Invincible

FOUR

Geary sat in his fleet command seat on the bridge of Dauntless, watching the distance reading to the nearest alien fortress scrolling downward rapidly. From as far off as the fleet was, the fortress wasn’t yet growing in size at any appreciable rate, but Geary still had the sensation that Dauntless and the entire fleet were diving down toward it. An odd sensation, born of human instincts that came from ancient ancestors walking the surface of a planet far distant.

Since the fleet was on an intercept course with the jump point guarded by the alien fortress, it was curving slightly around the edge of the star system. The fortress physically appeared to be just slightly to the right of Geary, or just off the starboard bows of the human ships. They were still forty light-minutes from that fortress. Since Geary had chosen to hold the speed of the human fleet to point one light speed, it would be nearly seven hours until they reached that fortress.

Much farther to the side, nearly amidships, hung the shapes of the alien armada pursuing the human fleet. To the human eye, those alien warships were still invisible, but the displays showed exactly where those other ships were, still about a light-hour distant. The relative bearing of the alien armada had not changed for hours, seemingly unmoving off to the side toward the alien star. But the distance to the alien ships steadily decreased as they held to a course that would bring them to intercept the human fleet in roughly eight hours.

Human fleet, alien fortress, and alien armada formed the points of a triangle with curving sides marking their trajectories through space to reach one another, the length of the sides constantly changing as the human and alien warships converged toward the fortress.

Geary shifted his gaze to the representation of the human fleet. Quite a few officers had been startled by the formation he had moved the fleet into. Unlike Geary’s usual practice of breaking the fleet into multiple subformations that maneuvered independently, this time he had brought the entire fleet together into a single flattened box shape. The auxiliaries and the assault transports occupied the center of the box, while the battleships, battle cruisers, cruisers, and destroyers were arrayed along the sides and bottom.

“What exactly are we trying to do here?” Captain Duellos had asked.

“Give the enemy a clear, concentrated target,” Geary had replied.

“You usually try to avoid doing that,” Duellos pointed out.

True enough. But this time he wanted a target the bear-cows couldn’t resist.

The biggest problem in the plan involved timing. He had to time everything the human fleet did in order to get reactions from the bear-cows when he wanted those reactions. Now Geary waited, trying to relax his mind, letting himself feel the right moment. “All units, turn starboard two zero degrees, up five degrees at time three zero.” That should do it.

There wasn’t any actual up or down in space, nor could ships, which could be pointed in any direction, agree on where their left and right were, so humans had imposed their own rules on trackless space. Upon arrival in a star system, the fleet’s systems drew a plane along the orbits of the majority of the star’s planets, designating one side “up” and the other “down,” so every ship knew what those directions meant. Every ship also understood that starboard meant turning toward the star, while port meant turning away from it. Crude but simple, the arbitrary system imposed by humanity worked and so had remained unchanged for centuries.

Desjani sat in her own command seat near his side. “At least with the fleet this concentrated, everybody will get your messages quickly.”

“That’s one less thing to worry about,” Geary agreed.

At thirty minutes past the hour, every ship in the human fleet turned simultaneously, the shape of the box not changing but its path through space altering to angle toward the alien armada. Geary watched the smoothly executed maneuver with a feeling of pride. “Damn, they move good.”

“We always knew how to handle ships,” Desjani reminded him. “You just retaught us the importance of moving in unison.”

“Hell, Tanya, you can handle a ship better asleep than I ever could at full alert.”

“You’re only saying that because it’s true.” She tapped out some calculations. “All right, the bear-cow armada is fifty-nine light-minutes and a handful of light-seconds distant. They’ll see that we turned toward them in about an hour. Since we’re closing on them faster now, we should start seeing their reactions in another… fifty-six minutes after that.”

“It shouldn’t take them long to react. Lieutenant Iger and the civilian experts all think from the videos we’ve intercepted that the bear-cows are indeed herd organized. The herd leader is the leader, pure and simple. That leader won’t consult with anyone before deciding what to do.”

“And the big herd leader on the planet is five light-hours distant, so he or she can’t, uh, horn in on what to do,” Desjani added. “What are you going to do for the next two hours?”

“Wait,” Geary said.

“I was going to suggest rest. Have you had anything to eat?” When he shook his head, she pulled out a ration bar in an unusually bright wrapper. “Try this.”

He took it, frowning as he read the label. “This isn’t a ration bar. It’s a ‘fusion cuisine hand-wrap.’ VIP-issue only.” Geary cocked a questioning look at her. “VIP-issue only? How many of these do we have?”

“Quite a few,” Desjani said, chewing on her own hand-wrap appreciatively. “The crew is going to get a pleasant surprise in their battle rations.”

“I know I shouldn’t ask, but how did they get aboard Dauntless?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Meaning you didn’t ask.”

“Mama didn’t raise a fool,” Desjani said. “If you want to ask Master Chief Gioninni how he came across these, you’re welcome, but he’ll probably just tell you they were lying around about to be disposed of, and he rescued them from being wasted. Or something like that.”

Geary took a bite. The hand-wraps were good. Much, much better than the ration bars the fleet was used to. “Oh, to be a VIP.” He caught her amused look. “No, I’m not. So why did these wraps only show up now?”

“They’ve been available in the chiefs’ mess since we left Varandal,” Desjani said. “I—”

“Caught them?”

“I gained knowledge of the hand-wraps’ availability,” Desjani continued in a perfectly serious tone of voice, “and directed Master Chief Gioninni to immediately enter them into the ship’s food inventory control system.”

“I see.” Geary took another bite. “Has the master chief reported anything regarding untoward activity among the auxiliaries?”

Desjani shook her head. “In his words, ‘nothing to bother the admiral about.’ Meaning the usual level of under-the-sensors, unofficial activity, I would guess, but nothing worse than that.” She popped the last bit of her wrap into her mouth. “How about your green-haired lieutenant?”

“I haven’t heard any reports from Lieutenant Shamrock since we got here,” Geary said.

“Shamrock?”

“That’s her nickname. I don’t know why I keep remembering the nickname. Maybe it’s that hair. Lieutenant… Jamenson.”

Desjani grinned. “I’m glad my ancestors didn’t think it would be a good idea to implant green hair in my genetic code.”

“Me, too.” Geary sobered, thinking again about the mysterious warship construction activity that Lieutenant Jamenson had discovered amid details and minor items hidden in hundreds of routine messages. “All of the engineers have been working around the clock getting damage repaired. I doubt there’s been any free time to look into that more.”

“Captain Smythe has probably run scams that Master Chief Gioninni has only dreamed about pulling off,” Desjani warned.

“As long as he keeps my ships working, I can live with that.” Geary took a final bite of his own wrap. “Right?”

“Well, yeah. Want another one?”

The crew wasn’t happy, knowing that the fleet had turned toward a faster intercept with the bear-cow armada. Geary could feel on his back the worried looks of the watch-standers on the bridge. “Those bear-cows probably think we intend going head-to-head with them,” he said to Desjani loudly enough for the watch-standers to hear.

“They’re going to be disappointed,” she replied at the same volume.

But then she lowered her voice. “If this works.”

“Captain,” Lieutenant Yuon reported, “we’re receiving readings from the sensors on the latest kinetic projectile to be diverted by that alien defense system on their fortress.”

“What’s it telling us?” Desjani asked.

“Um, Captain, it…” Yuon shook his head helplessly. “It’s telling us its course was diverted.”

Desjani turned in her seat to look at Yuon. “That’s all?”

“Yes, Captain. The sensors didn’t detect anything except the change in vector that caused the rock to miss the fort.”

“Forward those readings throughout the fleet,” Geary ordered. “I want to see if anyone can spot anything in them.”

Yuon hesitated. “Sir, Lieutenant Iger said the readings are classified and need to be kept under single-user control.”

Intelligence didn’t want anyone seeing the new information? That made a strange kind of sense since the capabilities the bear-cows had in certain areas would grant a huge advantage to any humans who could employ them against other humans.

But getting to that point meant getting this fleet past those bear-cow capabilities, which meant he had to understand as much as he could as quickly as he could. “Inform Lieutenant Iger that I am overriding that order. In this case, the security of the fleet is best served by figuring out whatever we can about this alien technology.”

Geary settled back again to wait. At the moment, there wasn’t much else he could do.

“Here we go,” Desjani said. “It took them less than a minute after they saw the vector we’d steadied on before they changed course to match.”

Geary nodded, his eyes on the display where the warships of the alien armada had come to port to bring about an even faster meeting with the human fleet. “Hold on. How much are they reducing velocity?”

“Quite a bit.” Desjani sounded thoughtful, one hand tracing out new data on her display. “Interesting. When we turned toward each other, it increased the combined speed we would meet at.”

“That’s right. To about point two five light speed if we both maintained our velocities. Too fast for our combat systems to compensate well for relativistic distortion.” The faster a ship went in normal space, subject to the rules of the ancient relativity physics, the more that ship’s image of the universe outside it was distorted. When it came to aiming weapons for millisecond-long engagement envelopes, even a tiny discrepancy between how the ship saw the universe and how that universe actually was would mean a clean miss. Human systems could compensate for that distortion fairly well up to point two light speed, but as velocities increased beyond that the systems increasingly developed too many errors to be accurate. “I expected them to slow at some point. But they’ve come down in speed immediately.”

“Still braking,” Desjani said. “Those superbattleships take a while to shed velocity. Lieutenant Castries.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Keep an eye on the alien armada’s maneuvering and let me know when their velocity steadies out.” Desjani sat back, frowning now, her eyes intent as if aiming a weapon. “Earlier, they had stopped accelerating before I thought they would.” She tapped controls. “Yeah. Our combined velocities when we came together would have been… point one seven light speed.”

“Point one seven.” Geary rubbed his chin. “I thought they were waiting to accelerate again when they were closer to us, but maybe they didn’t want to encounter us going any faster than that.”

“Want to bet they’ll brake down enough to meet us at point one seven light?” Desjani asked.

“If they do…” Geary felt himself smiling. “Our combat aiming systems are better than theirs.”

“Significantly better,” Desjani said. “Why do you suppose they’re changing velocity so early, though? Why not wait?”

“Good question.” The answer might imperil his whole plan, based as it was on the enemy’s charging his fleet. Geary passed the question on to the civilian experts, hoping they might come up with some insight.

It took nearly half an hour before Lieutenant Castries called out to Desjani. “They’ve steadied out, Captain.”

“Thank you. What do the maneuvering systems say our combined velocities will be when we encounter the bear-cows?”

“If neither of us alters velocity or course again… point one seven light speed, Captain.”

Desjani laughed softly. “Got ’em.”

“Good call, Tanya.” Geary was running some updates to his plan, taking into account the newly discovered fact that the bear-cow armada would limit its speed as it closed to contact. “That makes our next maneuver in one and a half hours.”

“Admiral, someone on one of the assault transports wants to speak with you,” the communications watch announced. “You’ve got your comms set to block him, though.”

He didn’t need distractions, but Geary checked to see who it was. Dr. Setin, one of the civilian experts. “Why is my software blocking Setin?” he grumbled.

Desjani heard, turning a glower toward the comm watch. “Have the systems people check the admiral’s screening software and find out why it’s blocking the wrong contacts.”

Geary entered the override, seeing Dr. Setin’s image pop up immediately, along with that of Dr. Shwartz. “Admiral,” Setin said eagerly, “Dr. Shwartz has an interesting theory regarding the alien beings in this star system. It’s based on a wide variety of observations and analysis—”

“Doctor,” Geary interrupted, “I’m busy in the preliminary stages of an engagement with those aliens right now. Can you just summarize the theory?”

Dr. Shwartz spoke quickly. “As humans, we’re used to dealing with creatures which, when threatened or pursuing something, start out with a quick burst of acceleration, trying to either get away or catch their prey by using maximum acceleration and speed for a short period. But an intelligent creature, and here I’m speaking of something as smart as the typical predator or prey, knows once it has escaped immediate danger or failed to catch its prey on the first lunge, that a prolonged chase might ensue. In that prolonged chase, both predator and prey adopt the pace best suited for them to maintain for long periods.”

Geary thought about that, his eyes going back to his display. “That’s what the bear-cows are doing? Instead of charging at maximum speed, they’re adopting a pace sufficient to get to us using their best efficiency?”

“I think so, yes, Admiral.”

“Dr. Shwartz, that doesn’t make sense. They’re not running after us. They’re in ships. The propulsion systems won’t wear out, the fuel won’t exhaust unless their designs are ridiculously short-legged in terms of endurance. We’ll be gone from this star system long before they could run out of means to continue chasing us.”

“Admiral.” Dr. Shwartz paused, then spoke quietly. “You are assuming that these aliens only intend that pursuit to last as long as we are here.”

He had to take that in, letting the idea settle, and not liking it at all. “You think they might follow us? Through that jump point?”

“Admiral, it’s possible that they will follow us as long as they possibly can, trying to destroy us so that we cannot return and threaten the herd again. These herbivores gained control of their world. They built those fortresses. They must be persistent, able to focus for long periods on issues of security, and willing to devote whatever it takes to eliminating threats.”

“Thank you. That’s an… interesting interpretation, though I hope you’re wrong.” After the images of the doctors vanished, Geary turned to Desjani and passed on the theory.

“Oh, great.” Desjani flexed her hands as if preparing for physical combat. “I wonder if they’ve got legs enough to follow us all the way back to Alliance space?”

“Without auxiliaries to transport and produce more fuel cells or whatever else they use?” Geary asked.

“Those superbattleships are big enough to have auxiliary capabilities,” she pointed out. “Big storage capacity, manufacturing shops, that kind of thing. You know, they make more sense now that I thought of that. Maybe they even grow food on some of the decks. A self-contained warship that can make everything it needs, that has essentially unlimited endurance as long as it can pick up new raw materials occasionally as it passes through star systems.”

He looked at the depictions of the bear-cow superbattleships with new eyes. “You’re right. They may not be that big just for immediate combat capability. One more thing to worry about.”

“We can take them as far as Syndic territory and lose them there so they can run amuck,” Desjani suggested. “I’m joking, by the way.”

“Thanks for clarifying that.” He was only half-joking in his reply. When he had first encountered Tanya, she had carried many of the ugly legacies of a century of war within her. There were few things she would not have done to the hated Syndicate Worlds enemies, military or civilian. She still carried many scars of war inside her though she rarely let him see external signs of those. “But if they do follow us, we’re going to have to take them out once we have them somewhere they don’t have these fortresses and all of the other resources of this star system backing them up.”

She nodded, smiling crookedly. “I notice you haven’t been talking much about what might be at the star we’ll be jumping to.”

“Whatever is there is there. We’ll deal with it.”

“Admiral?” the comm watch-stander said. “Captain Smythe on Tanuki is trying to get through to you. He says he’s getting a block notification.”

“Captain Smythe?” Geary looked at Desjani. “I know my comm settings don’t block him.”

Her face grim, Desjani hit her internal comm controls. “Systems maintenance, this is the Captain. Something is wrong with the fleet commander’s comm software. Find out what, find it now, and get it fixed five minutes ago. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain!” The systems maintenance personnel sounded worried, as well they should be when Desjani used that tone of voice.

“Forward Captain Smythe’s call,” Geary ordered the comm watch.

Smythe appeared, looking puzzled. “Comm problems, Admiral? I’m guessing, but then I don’t see how else I would have ended up unable to reach you directly.”

“Apparently,” Geary replied. “The systems people here on Dauntless are checking it.”

“It’s probably—Is it an isolated problem? Have you seen others?”

“At least one other recent problem with my comm settings,” Geary said.

“Admiral, I don’t wish to alarm you,” Smythe said, though his expression betrayed a worrisome amount of unease despite his words. “This may not be a software problem. That is, the operating systems may be working fine. But if the comm system processors and memory tacks are developing physical flaws, it will cause erratic behavior in the software.”

Everything else in the fleet was breaking as it reached the end of a short design life, but this particular problem hadn’t occurred to Geary. If he started having comm problems now, as they were heading for an encounter with the alien armada… “Captain Desjani, Captain Smythe informs me that it would be a good idea for your systems people to check the hardware in the comm system. Processors and memory tacks.”

As aware as he of the implications, Desjani stared at Geary for only an instant before reacting. “Systems! Check the hardware! Chief engineer! I want an immediate and full check of all comm and comm-associated processors and other gear.”

Smythe, unaware of Desjani’s words, was speaking to Geary again. “I was actually calling about Orion. Kupua completed her repairs on the damaged main propulsion unit and the fleet’s readiness system will tell you that Orion is at one hundred percent again, but Kupua’s commanding officer, Commander Miskovic, told me that she is worried.”

“Worried?” She’s worried? Try wondering whether or not your comms will work as you race to an encounter with an alien fleet. “Worried about what?”

“The systems test fine,” Smythe said, groping for words. “But… Miskovic told me they don’t feel fine to her.”

“What does that mean?” Geary demanded.

“It means there’s nothing quantifiably wrong with Orion’s propulsion right now, Admiral, but a talented and experienced engineer has a bad feeling about it.” Smythe gestured in frustration. “I don’t have to remind you that Orion has taken a lot of damage in the last year and received a lot of repairs, sometimes very hasty ones. That sort of thing can add up in sometimes indefinable ways.”

“I don’t understand.”

Smythe looked startled, then his expression cleared. “Of course. You didn’t spend your career in combat, not until after the fight at Grendel. Your pardon, Admiral, but everyone today tends to assume that any officer they know has been in the fight all their lives. But that means you don’t have extensive experience with combat-damaged systems that have undergone repeated repair. I’ll be the first to admit that hasn’t happened as much as it should have, because too many ships were lost completely or had to be scuttled. But it adds up, just like normal stresses add up over time.”

Another headache was starting. Geary tried to relax himself. Letting stress impact him could lead to errors and misjudgments that he and this fleet could not afford. “What exactly does that mean in this case?”

“It means that while every test shows Orion’s propulsion systems working fine, the engineer who helped run those tests is of the opinion that Orion could suffer a significant propulsion problem at any time, with little or no warning. I thought you should know.”

“Is there anything I can do about it?” Geary asked.

“Not apart from full rework, replacement, and rebuild of Orion’s systems,” Smythe said. “Which is scheduled though that schedule keeps slipping.”

Geary nodded, absorbing the information. “Thank you, Captain Smythe. At least if something does happen unexpectedly to Orion’s propulsion systems I’ll be mentally prepared to deal with it.” Please, ancestors, ask the living stars to make sure that doesn’t happen during a battle. “Was Commander Shen informed of this?”

“Yes, Admiral. He didn’t seem happy with the assessment, but then Commander Shen never looks happy.”

Desjani leaned closer. “It was in the main comm coordination processors. Several of the memory tacks there aren’t retaining updates.”

Smythe heard this time and nodded in satisfaction. “That’s it. They’re losing memory-save capability. That’s causing your comm system to keep falling back into default settings. Nothing anyone would notice at first, but the save problems will keep cascading through your systems.”

“My system engineers are swapping out the tacks,” Desjani said. “Should they be doing anything else?”

“Replacing the rest of the system,” Smythe said with a sigh. “The tack failures are the canary in the coal mine for your comm system. Don’t depend on normal physical equipment diagnostics and self-test schedules. Treat the system as sick until we can get everything replaced.”

“Captain Smythe,” Geary said with what he considered a great deal of restraint, “we’re heading into battle. Are you telling me that I can’t depend upon Dauntless’s comm system?”

He felt Desjani tense. She had always taken pride in Dauntless’s status as flagship, as well as her own reputation for keeping everything and everyone on Dauntless in top readiness. If he had to transfer his flag on the eve of a fight because he couldn’t count on critical equipment on Dauntless working, Tanya and her crew would be humiliated.

Smythe simply viewed the question from an engineer’s perspective, though. “I’d need to see a full inspection and test run before I could answer that question, Admiral. Obviously, there are already problems on Dauntless, though.”

Desjani’s face had darkened, and she appeared ready for a hot retort.

Should he let loyalty to Tanya, and his familiarity with and liking of Dauntless and her crew, override his responsibility to have a flagship with reliable communications? The consequences of letting sentiment decide the issue, rather than cold logic, could be extremely serious.

But there were other factors in war that had nothing to do with cold logic. Intangibles that could decide the outcomes of battles. What would be the impact in the fleet if everyone saw him making a last-minute shift of his flag to another warship when Dauntless was outwardly undamaged? How many reasons for such an action would fly around the fleet within moments, and how much damage could those rumors cause to the fighting spirit and discipline of this fleet?

Unaware of the emotional byplay, Smythe had continued speaking, his face intent and eyes focused elsewhere as he thought through the problem. “Obviously, too, Dauntless has already identified the problem and begun corrective work. Any other ship could develop the same issues at any time. But there’s no telling how long or complex the repairs might be—”

“Thank you, Captain Smythe,” Geary broke in, feeling the tension now not only in Desjani but within everyone on the bridge. For better or worse, he believed that this time the intangibles had to take priority. “Dauntless is working to correct the problem. I’ll place my trust in the ability of her crew to get the job done. They’ve never let me down.”

“All right, Admiral. It’s your fleet. Oh, don’t forget the bit about Orion.”

“Trust me, Captain Smythe, I will remember that.” He sat back, blowing out a breath he hadn’t known was inside him. Glancing at Desjani, he saw her speaking on her internal comms, with brisk efficiency but no outward tension now. Around him, the rest of Dauntless’s bridge crew were at work with a sort of steady determination. “How’s it look?” he asked Desjani.

She finished her conversation, turning toward him. “Another ten minutes, and the swap out of components and system checks will be done. A full inspection of the physical components will take a lot longer, but we’re on it, Admiral.”

“Thank you.”

“No, sir. Thank you.” She smiled. “You publicly expressed confidence in my ship and my crew.”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with knowing his words meant so much to her and the rest of the crew. “I just told the truth. Dauntless has never let me down. If there is a ship in this fleet that is truly invincible, it’s Dauntless.”

Desjani’s smile slipped. “And now you’re trying to jinx my ship.”

“I only meant—”

“Quit while you’re ahead, Admiral. I’m sure you will apologize to the living stars later for the presumption, but for now let’s pretend you didn’t say that and just focus on the fact that Black Jack wouldn’t have any other ship carry his flag.”

He almost hesitated before sending the next maneuver orders, wondering if they would go out to the rest of the fleet as they should or if the comm system would suffer more problems. But Desjani’s comm personnel had reported that the system was working properly for now at least. “All units, come port six five degrees down three degrees at time one five.”

Every ship turned as ordered, the box formation once again pivoting its heading without changing its shape, the fleet curving around away from both the star here and the oncoming bear-cow armada, now only twenty light-minutes distant.

“The bear-cows are going to be unhappy,” Desjani commented.

“As long as they do what we want,” Geary replied.

“And what,” Victoria Rione asked from the back of the bridge, “are we doing?”

He pivoted his seat to look back at her. “Trying to get them to do what we want them to do. I take it we still haven’t heard from them?”

“No,” Rione said. “Not even a bloodcurdling ‘moo’ of defiance. I believe your experts are right. These creatures do not speak with their enemies. They get rid of them.”

General Charban came on the bridge as well as Rione finished. “And too bad for anyone or anything that wasn’t actually an enemy, though I suspect their definition of enemy might be very broad. I just had a fascinating discussion with Dr. Shwartz.”

“Any new insights?” Geary asked. It would be about forty minutes before they spotted the bear-cow reaction to their latest maneuver, so he might as well see if he could learn anything new during the wait.

“Nothing good,” Charban said.

“Why is it that Dr. Shwartz’s insights rarely bring comfort?”

Charban smiled. “That’s a question I can’t address. But I can tell you what our experts have concluded from more analysis of the surface of that inhabited planet here. You already know it is almost covered with buildings.”

“Right. Buildings with crops on the roofs.”

“The same crops, Admiral. There is very little if any variation in vegetation in all of the areas we have been able to view of that planet.”

“Everywhere?”

Desjani got it, making a noise of disbelief. “They’ve wiped out everything else? That planet is covered with them and what they grow to eat?”

“Pretty much,” Charban said. “They not only took out all of the predators, they’ve also apparently taken out everything else that might compete with them or be in the way. In the videos we’ve intercepted, we’ve seen birdlike creatures occasionally, and some small beasts that appear to be pets, but aside from that, it’s just bear-cows. Oh, except for some shows that must be historical. The bear-cows in them wear primitive armor and engage in battles with other creatures, clearly digital special effects rather than real, probably the predators who are now extinct.”

“Battles?” That might be another opportunity to confirm how the bear-cows fought. “Can you forward me one of those right now?”

“Certainly, Admiral.” Charban tapped his comm unit, then nodded to Geary.

Desjani leaned in close to Geary to watch as well, pointedly ignoring the arch look that Rione sent their way at the physical proximity.

In the new virtual window that popped up before him, Geary saw serried ranks of bear-cows bearing shields and long spears, advancing steadily against foes that battered vainly against the shield wall. Occasionally, one of the maddened predators would leap high enough to clear the shields, only to be impaled on the bristling field of spears behind that.

“It’s an impressive display of discipline,” Charban commented. “The bear-cows all stay in position in the formation, all stay in step, all respond immediately to orders.”

“I’m not seeing much drama,” Desjani commented. “They’re just using the weight of numbers to push back those predators, encircle them, and spear them.”

“That’s all that happens,” Charban said. “All of these historical videos are the same. We haven’t seen a single case where a lone bear-cow plays the hero. Apparently, the bear-cows get their pleasure from watching the mass movements of their own armies. I checked, and there are rough analogues to that in human history. One ancient society on Old Earth, for example, who fought in similar tight formations with locked shields, and found heroism and drama in the simple question of whether or not each soldier could hold their place in formation as two forces clashed.”

“They’re not totally different from us,” Rione said. “There are ways in which we could find common ground if they would talk to us. But our earlier estimate that these herbivores attacked us solely because we appeared to be predators was incomplete.”

“There’s another reason?” Geary asked.

She waved in the direction where the distant bear-cow planet lay. “We would be competition, Admiral. They don’t allow competition of any kind. They’ve wiped out the competition on their home world, and if they had not been pinned here by the presence of the enigmas, they might have expanded to human-controlled space by now, plowing under every other life-form they encountered.”

“What about in the other directions? Do we have to assume that the bear-cows are surrounded by enigma-controlled space?”

“We can hope,” Rione said. “And, yes, I know none of us would have hoped for that before coming to this star, but now the enigmas do seem to be the lesser of two evils.”

“Pandora,” Desjani said.

“What?” Geary spoke for everyone else on the bridge.

“One of those old legends,” Desjani explained. “The type that blamed everything that was wrong on women. Pandora opened some box and found all kinds of bad things in it. I think Pandora might be a good name for this particular star.”

“Those old legends didn’t blame all women for everything that was wrong,” Charban said. “They only blamed women who… didn’t do as they were told.”

“A critical distinction,” Rione said in dry tones. “It is, after all, hard to overemphasize the importance of obedience in women.”

Desjani grinned at Charban’s discomfort, then suddenly realized that she had allied with Rione in this matter and shifted her attention back to Geary. “Five minutes until we see their reaction.”

Not wanting to get involved in the discussion of historical views on “appropriate” female behavior that Charban had unwittingly opened, Geary simply nodded, focusing back on his display. The bear-cows should react to his last maneuver by coming to port, heading down very slightly, and accelerating again to set up another intercept with the human fleet.

“There’s always the chance,” Desjani said, “that the armada will peel off to let the fortress deal with us.”

“I know. Our next maneuver will get us much closer to them, though. If what we know and guess about the bear-cows is right, they’ll keep after us.”

The bear-cow armada shifted vector exactly on schedule, making the exact changes in course necessary to bring about another intercept while the bear-cow warships began increasing their velocity. Geary gave them time to steady out on their next course, but ordered the next human maneuver while the bear-cows were still accelerating. “All units come starboard one three four degrees up five degrees at time two seven.”

This time the human formation swung widely back toward the bear-cow armada, every ship pivoting in place within the box. “They’re eighteen light-minutes distant,” Desjani commented, “but we’re going to close that fast on this new course. Current closing speed is point two four light speed, and they’ll keep accelerating until they see we’ve turned toward them.”

Geary nodded, his attention back on the alien fortress. The human fleet had gradually closed the distance to that as well, so the fortress was now but twenty-two light-minutes away, its relative bearing on the port quarter of the Alliance warships as they steadied onto their new course. The bear-cow armada was off the starboard bows of the human ships, so that alien fortress, human fleet, and alien armada were now nearly in a line, with the humans between the two bear-cow forces. “We’re going to be making quicker moves from here on, and a lot of it is going to be by instinct since we won’t have time to see the bear-cow reactions before we make our next move. Let me know if anything feels wrong to you.”

“You’re better than me at fleet maneuvers,” Desjani said. “A lot better.”

“But you can judge whether or not Dauntless is moving the way we want. Just let me know how that feels. Every other ship in this fleet is keeping position on Dauntless, so if she’s moving how we want, they’ll be moving how we want.”

“Yes, sir.”

Seventy-five minutes left to contact, or more like seventy if the bear-cows kept accelerating.

He had briefed his ship captains on what was to happen. Over the next couple of hours, the human fleet made repeated turns, to port, to starboard, back around, forcing the oncoming alien warships to frequently change their own courses and speeds. If those creatures were human, they would be growing increasingly frustrated and angry as the human fleet kept alternately turning toward a faster meeting, then turning away to force a longer chase. There was also the risk that Geary’s own captains would feel the same emotions. But each set of maneuvers left the bear-cow warships closer to the human fleet and brought both human and alien formations closer to the huge orbiting alien fortress. The twin threats of alien armada and fortress would hopefully help keep Geary’s most aggressive ship captains in their places in the formation rather than charging the enemy.

As the fleet swung widely to port again, Geary thought about the virtues of the bear-cow way of fighting. Every combatant staying exactly where they should, doing exactly as their commander ordered. It would be comforting never to have to worry about someone doing the wrong thing or refusing to do what they had been told.

But then he would have a fleet of commanders who were even worse than Captain Vente, incapable of acting on their own when circumstances required, locked into waiting for exact instructions on what to do, blindly following orders even if those orders were clearly mistaken. Too much discipline and too little discipline were two sides of the same disastrous coin, which could only purchase defeat.

“The leader of that armada has got to be mad as hell,” Desjani said. “You keep playing with them instead of charging in to fight.”

“That’s the idea.” Soon now. The box formation of the human fleet had worked around so it was only a few light-minutes from the alien fortress, but on the nearly opposite side from the bear-cow armada, which was currently clawing around to starboard to come back at the humans, the massive bear-cow superbattleships requiring huge turning radii and the smaller ships around them keeping exact positions relative to the larger ships. Geary had dipped his fleet formation up and down slightly as he weaved back and forth, with the latest maneuver bringing the fleet aimed several degrees under the plane of the star system.

On Geary’s display, he watched the elements of the so-far-bloodless battle all swinging toward the alignment he had been working for all that day. The heading of the human fleet sliding toward the alien fortress, and beyond that fortress, the jump point that he needed to reach now almost in line with the fortress, the current turn aiming to take the fleet short of the fortress. Off to the port side of the human fleet and the alien fortress, the curving path of the alien armada was gliding toward not only the human fleet, but also a close approach to the fortress. That won’t worry the bear-cow commander. He wants me. He wants this fleet, and he doesn’t have to worry about being attacked by that fortress. And the fortress is watching me, too, waiting until this fleet gets into the right position so the fortress can launch hundreds of those suicide missile ships at us.

They’re not watching each other because they think they don’t have to.

I hope.

Now.

“All units, come starboard three five degrees at time four nine. Accelerate to point one five light speed.”

Thrusters fired at maximum power as the human fleet checked its turn to port and swung back to starboard in an enormous weaving maneuver. Main propulsion units flared, pushing the warships faster while they swung about. Geary kept his eyes on the ponderous auxiliaries in the center of the formation, knowing this maneuver would stress their capabilities to the maximum. If any of them failed to match the movement of the fleet, he would have to adjust courses on the fly to try to keep them safe.

But even though the largest auxiliaries screamed hull-stress warnings on the fleet alert net, they kept up with the turn. Geary took a deep breath, not even aware that he was crossing his fingers for luck. “All units. Immediate execute Modified Formation Hotel.”

Off to port of the human fleet, the now all-too-close bear-cow armada would be seeing the latest human maneuver, turning away but not enough to avoid contact this time. They would also be seeing the human fleet finally altering velocity, speeding up to confuse targeting and make the intercept harder. And now they would be seeing the outer edges of the human formation dissolving as the human warships shifted positions at the same time as they kept turning and accelerating.

Hundreds of human warships dipped and climbed past each other, following individual paths that were coordinated and woven into a single fabric. The battleships not already at the top of the human formation climbed, joining the rest of the battleships in the top layer to form a wall of strength. The battle cruisers formed clusters at the front and back of the formation, ready to defend those areas or reinforce the battleships. Heavy cruisers swung downward to form a shell about the auxiliaries and assault transports, while light cruisers and destroyers scattered to mix with the battleships and battle cruisers.

But the mass of the human formation stayed relatively compact as it steadied out, heading straight at the alien fortress, but aimed to pass beneath it.

Dauntless’s bridge was silent, everyone watching their displays, waiting to see how the alien armada would act, and when the fortress would launch its huge force of missile ships.

“Point of no return,” Desjani murmured. They were too far committed to this course now, unable to turn away from the fortress and the alien armada quickly enough to avoid a clash.

“Here they come,” Geary said.

The alien armada had come around and was braking velocity, its huge and cumbersome superbattleships straining to match the maneuver. The curve marking the armada’s projected course drifted to the side, steadying directly under the alien fortress. But the massive bear-cow ships couldn’t slow themselves fast enough. “Combined engagement velocity estimated at point one nine light speed,” Desjani said, as unnaturally calm as usual in the face of battle.

“All units,” Geary ordered, “engage any targets that enter your weapons envelopes.”

It had been days, then hours, then minutes, and now only seconds remained as the three elements of the battle rushed together. Would the alien fortress launch its missile ships on time for a perfect intercept of the human fleet tearing past, or… ?

“Here they come,” Desjani said. “Get anything that comes close,” she ordered her bridge crew.

The missile ships had begun launching, leaping upward from the surface of the fortress, but the launches faltered, staggering to a halt as the bear-cow armada in blind pursuit of the human fleet came blundering between the fleet and the fortress, fouling the path of the missile ships as the forces came together at a combined velocity of about fifty-seven thousand kilometers per second. Geary had planned it like an ancient bullfight, getting the bull enraged, getting it where and when he wanted it to be, until the final pass and away while the bull staggered past the place where it had thought to gore its opponent.

The actual shooting lasted for only milliseconds, too fast for human senses to register, automated combat systems selecting targets and firing at enemies who were there and gone in an instant. Particle beams seared deadly paths between ships, specter missiles launched to slam into targets too close to maneuver to avoid them, and sometimes even grapeshot was fired at targets close enough, the metal ball bearings striking with immense force against shields and armor. Dauntless rocked in the wake of explosions already far behind, Geary calling out new orders before he had time to assess damage to the fleet. “All units, brake at maximum to point one light speed.”

The human warships slewed around in place, their main propulsion units struggling to get their velocity low enough to use the jump point looming just beyond.

“A lot of misses,” Desjani commented, breathing slowly and deeply. “Looks like most of the bear-cow shots went wild.”

Geary spared a quick glance at the fleet status readouts. The human warships had focused their fire on the missile ships that had managed to launch, annihilating the partial wave short of their targets though taking some damage from near misses. The bear-cows, hampered by fire control systems that couldn’t match human capabilities at a combined engagement speed of point one nine light, hadn’t scored many hits despite the tremendous amount of firepower hurled out by the superbattleships.

He looked back at the maneuvering display, seeing velocities of his ships crawling downward, closer to point one light speed, the jump point approaching very, very quickly ahead.

“We’ll make it,” Desjani said.

“Not by much.” But it would be enough. “All units, jump now.”